


Withholding

by adrift_me



Series: Entrusted - Gravebone Short Stories [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, First Kiss, Fluff, Forehead Touching, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Like a page turned over, it’s never known what awaits them, but it’s always something engaging and unexpected.First kiss short story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am still gladly accepting prompts, so please do send me your suggestions in tumblr ask :)
> 
> My awesome friend [Marion](gravesfrommacusa.tumblr.com) doomed me into writing fluff forever, so this is for her as always.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/) :)  
> 

It’s a selfish thing to do, Percival knows it. But he can’t help it. His desire to be with Credence is not so easy to suppress. He can’t resist whisking the boy away from the cruelty of the world every other night and plunging him into magic. When sun goes down, it’s time Credence and himself can enjoy each other’s company without prying eyes and judging assumptions. Like a page turned over, it’s never known what awaits them, but it’s always something engaging and unexpected.

Just like this night.

A tall carved grandfather’s clock is ticking 4 in the morning. The fireplace is lit and mildly brightens up the living room where Graves and Credence are seated. Neither is tired, having drunk a small gulp of a prepared potion to keep them awake and in good spirits. Graves suspects they are trifling with that potion, being careless with using it quite so often, but he takes all the responsibility for the effects the medicine may impose on them. And damn the consequences.

Credence sits at the dining table, his suit jacket carefully folded and hanging off the chair’s back. The table is piled with many magical books and parchments. There is a wooden box with small potion vials, filled up to the brim with blue liquid and each carefully crafted with a “Wideye Potion” label. A handful of burning candles, scattered all over the table, creates curious shadow shapes from book piles, sorted by themes of history and charms. Credence hungrily reads through them, guided by Graves’ remarks and explanations.

Graves himself is enjoying a glass of fine firewhiskey and the sight of content Credence before his eyes. Ever since their meetings increased in quantity and quality, the boy has changed. His face is not quite as painful any longer, and his lips are visited by a smile much more often. It’s a slow recovery of a tortured mind, a recovery Graves proudly takes credit for. The boy asks questions to fulfil his curiousity and at times he is even brave enough to venture into short discussions on magical subjects. 

Graves complies willingly.

He allows Credence in his apartment, which is quite the equivalent of revealing his true self. Habits, tastes, quirks, all this is offered as a token of appreciation and trust to Credence. He accepts it without hesitation or judging. The auror wonders if anyone knows him as well as the boy now does. Surprisingly, it’s not even about standing shoulder to shoulder amidst the battlefield or solving complicated political situations. It’s small things, words, gestures, building up his persona and being revealed to a selected number of people.

To Credence.

The boy carefully closes the volume he devoured and pushes it aside. Graves, sitting close to him, their knees touching under the table, leans in to offer another book. But there is something in the boy’s face, the way he looks away and smiles just a little, that makes Graves pause in his intention.

“What is it, Credence?”

“I’d like to take a break,” he replies shyly, playing with his fingers.

“Of course, my boy. You are no doubt tired.”

Graves leaves his empty glass on the table and moves his chair closer to Credence, scraping the floor loudly. He sneaks an arm behind Credence and rests it on the chair’s back.

“Did you enjoy this book?”

“Quite, sir. I didn’t know real witches and wizards couldn’t be burned in Medieval times,” confesses Credence, seemingly in awe at the powers of magical folk of medieval age. Graves nods in agreement, pulling the discussed book closer and studying its engraved title. He’s kept the book since his studying in Ilvermorny and never opened it afterwards for he had no need. Perhaps, the book was patiently waiting for the new owner, who now sat across Graves and bore a look of incredulity and curiousity.

“It’s a good thing we don’t have such a hunting these days, with wizarding folk being relatively free,” says Percival. The idea of his words occurs to him imminently, as he sees Credence clench his fist a little. He rubs his forehead with a cold hand before looking up at the boy.

“My apologies, Credence. This was very unkind of me to say so.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Graves. I am an exception.”

It’s a self-beating phrase that sounds poisonous to Graves and he rises from his chair to stand behind Credence. He places both hands on the boy’s shoulders, squeezing them carefully, and leans down to speak quietly in his ear.

“You are indeed an exception, Credence, but I intend it to be a positive one. I will fight for you to become part of my world,” his hand runs through Credence’s hair, feeling their softness.

Perhaps it’s the lack of terrifying eye contact that works as a factor, for Percival finds his hand pressed to Credence’s face by the boy’s hand. He feels a soft kiss planted on the inside of his palm, and it’s full of gentle gratitude.

He hates the idea of overpowering, and slides his hand down to help the boy get up.

They have always shared something close to an intimate connection, nothing sexual, but quite sensual in its content. It all comes down to that one night, when all the unspoken things are happening through touch. The touch, that one of Graves’ hand on Credence’s face, being so close to his own that he can feel his warm breathing. Graves’ eyes are loving and admiring, as he stares down at the boy in front of him. Credence’s eyes are not brave, their sparkle is hidden as he looks down at the auror’s chest. But the way he leans in, slowly and with uncertainty, is a sign of courage enough. And before Graves knows it, before his mind registers it…

Credence kisses him.

Graves needs but a moment to understand, to embrace and to kiss back as gently as possible. He gathers the boy in his arms, pressing him close, giving his body the protection of his arms. With the ridiculous suit jacket gone, he can feel the warmth of his skin. Credence’s hand rests on his face, drawing him closer.

The boy is a giver as much as a taker. All the caressing that Graves gifted him is now returned twofold. Those unlearnt fingers are rubbing his cheek, those chapped lips that never knew a kiss are trying to please. It’s a lick of a tongue over his lips that makes Graves open his mouth and make the kiss deeper. His arms hold the young man even closer, for he hates the idea of anything being between their bodies.

Credence’s hands find their way to Graves’ neck and, much to the man’s surprise, he realises that the boy is taller than him, as now their foreheads touch and Credence is but half an inch higher. His shoulders must be stooping no longer. It’s a surprising revelation and it makes Percival smile and pull back. Credence follows him but is stopped by a delicate hand on his cheek.

“How many secrets you hide, Credence,” says Graves in a husky voice, gently moving his forehead over Credence’s, their noses touching. Credence’s eyes look down in some unknown fear and Graves kisses them lightly. The boy smiles and seemingly lets go of what troubles his mind for a moment.

“Mr. Graves,” he manages to breathe out before leaning in to kiss Graves again. And Percival yields, he follows, he takes, pressing his lips to Credence’s and finding his hot tongue with his own. 

So many things and images storm Graves’ mind, from doing unspeakable things to this innocent young man in his arms to merely living in the current moment and enjoying what’s happening between them. He wants to hold onto that moment, so that whenever sadness or loneliness strikes, he can return to it.

But he knows with the way Credence is holding onto him, how his fingers dig into the auror’s flesh with each flick of a tongue and breathe intake, that he won’t let Percival be alone. It’s an addictive kind of image in his mind, that both Credence and himself need each other in a variety of ways.

He pulls away yet again and now his eyes are glued to Credence’s lips, reddened and slightly wet. He rubs them with his thumb before pushing his forehead to touch Credence’s.

“My boy,” he whispers, feeling blood flushing to his cheeks. He doesn’t realise all the candles are out, perhaps by mere thought and his magic. His arms slide around Credence to bring him into a hug, resting his head on the boy’s shoulder.

“Percival…”

Graves smiles. His name in this young man’s mouth sounds foreign but more than acceptable. It’s a small step for them both to take, yet another hoop of trust to put around each other. The situation is calling for real names. It’s demanding sincerity. It wants no more withholding.

And so they aren’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I really do love comments~


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